


Frozen

by Uniasus



Series: Frozen [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: A not nice Ratchet, Allspark!Sam, Gen, Post-Revenge of the Fallen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet had always considered himself loyal to Optimus Prime. Still, he had been loyal for too many vorns to count.  Which was why he knew keeping this secret and lie was forever going to sit in his processor and the guilt would creep upon him in the dark of night.  Optimus was in charge of the survival for his troops, but here Ratchet had the opportunity to save their entire race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ratchet

Ratchet had always considered himself loyal to Optimus Prime. He did not destroy those fragging glitch ridden twins when the three of them were in the same quadrant. He did not kill humans even though the thought had crossed his mind several times since they had arrived on Earth. Not that he expressed these thoughts, just agreed with Ironhide when the gunner made such comments. 

Still, he had been loyal for too many vorns to count. Which was why he knew keeping this secret and lie was forever going to sit in his processor and the guilt would creep upon him in the dark of night. Optimus was in charge of the survival for his troops, but here Ratchet had the opportunity to save their entire race. 

Except there was no way his leader would agree to what he was thinking, the freedom of sentient beings and all that. 

After the events in Egypt, Ratchet kept a close optic on their human companions, especially Sam. It irked him that Sam had had a sliver of the Allspark on him when he left Mission City and his scanners had not picked it up. He was fascinated that the Allspark had managed to store its information in a tiny portion of itself, and even more so that it had transferred the information to an organic! 

It was unheard of; Cybertronian and Earthling body components were completely different. Being composed of Cybertron metals, it made sense that any interfacing with the Cube would be done with a member of their race, not a human. Then again, no Cybertronian had ever communicated with the Allspark. Not even Optimus and he was the Prime, the one in charge of protecting Primus’s gift of life to their race in the form of the Cube. And Sam’s predecessor had gone mad seeing their language. Did the Cube only interact with organics, an attempt at an objective point of view?

No matter what the reason, Sam now had the knowledge of the Allspark. And part of that was the know how of how to create new sparks, how to bring sparklings back into their midst. There had not been one created since the war really took off; Optimus had sent the Allspark into the outer reaches of space to protect it. In an effort to have the Prime bring it out of hiding, Megatron had captured and deactivated all the sparklings and most of the younglings. Bumblebee was the youngest amongst their crew, halfway through his younglinghood at that time. Most likely, he was the youngest one left. 

Ratchet never had the desire to have a sparkling. Yes he was susceptible to their charms, made an excellent baby-sitter (he did not like to advertise that), but ultimately their best feature was that none of the ones he had interacted with belonged to him. But as the cenvorns had passed he found his position on not having one had eroded away. 

Sam was the only way he, and others, could have that option. The boy did not have the knowledge now, but there was a possibility that it would eventually surface. He was sure the Allspark would reveal information slowly to Sam to enable his organic conscious brain to handle all the information.

The Cube also had the power of healing; it had fixed Bumblebee’s vocal processor. If Sam developed the same ability, how ever way, it would be a great boon for their cause, for their race, if a truce was ever reached with the Decepticons. They could stop losing loved ones.

He doubted Sam would use such an ability to produce sparks willingly. The Autobots had only interacted with the human race for two years, and even then sparsely. And that was limited to the NEST soldiers; Sam and he had only seen each other really at the Mission City battle and then later in Egypt. Fighting did not usually allow any time to engage in conversation and know each other. Sam had only interacted with Bumblebee and Ratchet doubted the scout would want carry a new spark desperately enough to get Sam to create one. 

No, the best way to ensure that his race would survive was to keep Sam close. 

Ratchet ordered all the humans into quarantine after they arrived back to the States to keep an eye on all of them for medical reasons. All had been subjected to some form of radiation, from the Tomb of the Primes to the wave of energy released by the Matrix of Leadership. It was an expected, if disliked, request. And after Sam’s close brush with death his parents, girlfriend, and guardian practically pushed him into Ratchet’s waiting hands, knowing the medic would handle everything and the end result would be positive because he was the best around. It only made what he did harder. 

He told them Sam died.


	2. Mikaela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikaela attends Sam's funeral.

She had never been to a funeral before. She had hoped she would not attend one until she was at least thirty. Some hopes are dashed.

It was a haphazard affair, quickly put together to occur a few days after Ratchet’s announcement. Sam’s heartbeat had been irregular since they had nearly lost him amidst a sea of sand and eventually it just simply…stopped. There had been nothing he could do.

Ron and Judy Witwicky had been devastated. Ron had gone all white when Ratchet told them with his optics on the floor. Judy had tensed up and demanded in a cool voice proof, for her to see her baby. The CMO had stepped aside and Judy stormed past.

The next think Mikaela knew a wailing had echoed out of the room, Ron rushed in, and Ratchet quickly shut the door to mute the sound. She had turned and ran to her room, breezing by a shocked Leo, and locking the door. She did not open it until two days had passed and her stomach would not let itself be ignored any longer.

Bumblebee had taken off at a mad split, returning without making a sound only a few hours before the funeral.

Will Lennox and his wife Sarah had helped the Witwickys set up the ceremony, something Mikaela cringed over. She had spent two days locked up in her room while they did not have that luxury. She had run and they had been forced to face facts with white faces and eyes too dry to shed another tear. It might not have been her place, but she felt like she should have helped in some way. Help picked the flowers or selected photos for the montages put up at the wake.

The wake was an awkward affair. The military allowed them to say Sam had been caught up in the crossfire at the events in Egypt, but not anything else. After seeing his face all over the news, friends and family asked questions of Judy and Ron that they could not answer. Will, Mikaela, and Leo did their best to defer them as well as they could.

Another consequence of Sam’s worldwide fame was the guards at the door. The wake was invitation only, but so many in the community after hearing about the ceremony wanted to come and satisfy their curiosity. It disgusted her.

Miles had kept shooting her and Leo betrayed looks, as if he knew they were hiding something about his best friend and not telling him. At one point he had tried to make his way toward them, a mixture of steel and hurt in his eyes. Mikaela had never loved Sam’s aunt Alivia more when she intercepted him and drew him aside for conversation.

She did not know if it was a planned thing or a result of the tense air the night before, but when Sam’s ashes were released to the wind at the lookout the next day it was a very small affair. Mikaela, Judy, Ron, and Bumblebee had crowded around the tree, close to the edge of the cliff. The rest of the Autobots were back a ways; they had not been able to visit the wake for obvious reasons and it had seemed wrong to deny them the opportunity to pay their respects. 

She noticed Ratchet was not there, but she did not think much of it. He probably thought it was his fault.

“We’ll miss you son,” Ron started. “You were such a good kid, and you had so much promise.” His voice tapered off at the end and no one spoke for few minutes.

“I’m, real, real angry at you Sammy,” Judy said with a hiccup. “You were supposed to get a degree, propose to Mikaela,” the two women shared a watery smile, “Live a full life. God, why’d you have to go?!” She tightened her hold on the vase in her hands and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder.

Bumblebee let out a mournful, wounded sound and drooped his wings. Mikaela stepped back to lean against his left leg.  
“I’ll always love you, Sam.” The tears fell unabashed down her face and she could hear Judy make little hiccuping noises while her husband rubber her shoulder.

A wind picked up, lifting Mikaela’s hair and causing Judy to wipe at her eyes. It had died down by the time the older woman had finished, but another breeze soon followed.

“Take care Sammy,” Judy said. Ron reached over to take off the vase’s lid and Judy turned it over. The gray ashes fell out in a giant clump, a decent portion dropping directly to the earth below. Most of it though managed to catch the tail end of the wind, dropping a few feet before being carried off across the plain below.

Judy was encircled in her husband’s arms, visibly shaking. Mikaela turned and placed her forehead against Bee’s leg armor, her body succumbing to tremors too. The Camaro let out a sad warble and extended a hand down for her to clamber on. She gladly took him up on the offer.

Bumblebee offered his other hand to the couple still on the ground. Ron looked at it for a moment, glanced up to Mikaela already sitting in the other one, and then guided his wife onto the waiting palm. Bee brought his cupped hands together in the center of his chest. Judy looked over at Mikaela and then opened her arms in a ‘come here’ gesture.  
With a sob, Mikaela took her up on the offer and the three of them fell down into a heap in Bumblebee’s hands, tears flowing. The Autobot curled his hands tighter and closer to his spark, the rest of his fraction behind him softly taking off down the road.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Mikaela and Bee said in tandem. Judy looked at Mikaela and then switched her view up to Bumblebee’s face before returning to Mikaela's. “It’s not your fault, either of you.”

Ron tilted his head back to look at the mech above him. “You did what you could, and I thank you for that,” he turned his gaze to the teen in his wife’s arms, “and you had nothing to do with it.”

Mikaela started crying harder and buried herself in Judy’s arms. Ron wrapped his arms around the both of them and leaned into the armor beside him. They stayed like that until dusk.


	3. The Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins see something they have no business seeing.

They had noticed the door Sunstreaker’s second week at the Autobot Reconnaissance Camp, or ARC. Sideswipe was surprised it was not the first week, but he and Sunstreaker had played it cool then. They had spent a lot of time just basking in each other’s company after being apart for so long. A lot happened in the vorns they had been apart, and Sideswipe did have seventeen terrain years of experience with humans he needed to share.

All the humans milling about had also been a concern; they had been actually worried about harming one of them. They were a species so similar to themselves, having known war and still managed to be jovial; hurting them was a concern they had both shared but never told any of their comrades in cannons. They did not want the other Autobots to think of them as...soft, or anything like that.

But watching the humans run a military drill behind the base and learning that they had helped deal out some major smack down to Cons proved that the little organics could handle themselves. Well, that and hacking into Ratchet’s files to find out the physical limits of humans. They could have asked for them, but then what would Ratchet, and the rest of the faction think of them then? That they actually thought of someone other than themselves?

So they did not actually perform their first prank until the second week of their residence in the ARC, finally knowing that the humans were not as fragile as a seekerlet’s wings and boredom had set in now that they had caught up with each other. 

Ratchet had been the target as usual, the medic had been on edge ever since Sunstreaker’s return as if he just knew something was going to happen, but they ended up getting old Ironhide instead. Seeing the glue spill onto the weapons specialist from a bucket above the door to the rec room, followed by a pillowcase full of feathers had been quite a sight.

Sadly, even though the Topkick had looked up at the noise to get an optic full of glue and feathers it had not hampered his aim. They had been trapped; Ironhide was blocking the doorway and the tables they sat at to refuel too flimsy to be used as shields even when turned on their side. Since Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been the only two in the room Ironhide did not have to worry about hitting anyone else. He peppered the twins’ hiding place, not minding the ricochets. Needless to say the result was two severely injured Lamborghinis.

Bumblebee tried to hold Ironhide’s cannon still while Ratchet worked to disable it, but the damage had been done. Both twins had holes in their arms from trying to protect their chests and spark chamber as best as possible, with Sideswiped having a finger from his right servo blasted clean off and Sunstreaker had lost a head horn. The yellow mech was not happy, but he refrained from complaining until they were safely away from Ironhide and in the medical bay.

“Please tell me you have the parts for this Ratchet!” Sunstreaker pleaded. “I still have so many Earth first impressions to make!”  
“Quit whining,” the CMO grumbled, knocking his wrench into his patient’s shoulder.

“Yeah, at least you’re functional,” Sideswiped called to his brother, raising his injured servo, “I can’t move this.” His shoulders slumped, “Guess I won’t be able to go on patrol in a couple of hours.”

“You don’t need a working servo to go on patrol,” Ratchet spat. “And even if you did, don’t underestimate me. I’ll have that finished before you’re due to leave.” The search and rescue vehicle made his way to the back of the room where shelves of supplies stood.

Sunstreaker played a soundtrack of a kid sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“Hey! It was worth a try.”

They were both determined fit for duty and set off for patrol later that day. It seemed that without Prowl around, the CMO was the one making sure rules were followed with a silent support from Prime. Or maybe that was just for them, seeing as how everyone else on base seemed to follow orders.

Much to Sunstreaker’s annoyance, when Ratchet had pushed them out the door the yellow mech’s armor was still filled with dings and in need of a good buffing. So when night came around he convinced his brother to help him sneak into the med bay and locate some wax while the rest of the base recharged.

::I don’t see any:: Sideswipe commed to his brother, standing up after searching the bottom shelf of Ratchet’s supplies.

::There’s got to be some wax here Sides!:: Sunstreaker stood up from his own crouch on the other side of the shelving unit. Placing his servos on his hips, he glanced around the med bay.

::What about over there?::

::Where?::

Sunstreaker pointed towards a door on the wall to his left, nestled right into the corner. ::Supply closet?::

::Could be::

They walked closer, hesitating when they saw a keypad on the door.

::Let me handle it:: Sideswipe pushed his brother aside and set to work on the wall device. Not even a quarter breem later it blinked green.

::Nice:: Sunstreaker sent to his brother.

::What can I say Sunny? I. Am. A genius::

::And behind door number one – not wax::

They had not found a storage room at all, but rather a spare recharge compartment.

::Huh, wonder what this is for?:: Sunstreaker asked, stepping inside.

::Most likely for Ratchet to use if he needs to be close to a patient. Quarters are on the other side of base you know:: Sideswipe followed his yellow brother inside, giving a casual glance around the room. It was not very homey.

::Sides?:: Sunstreaker had lowered himself to look at the floor underneath the recharge berth, running a finger along the metal floor.

::Find something interesting?:: Sideswipe mimicked his twin's position. From here he could see fine lines on the ground, forming a rectangle. A door.

::Come on, let’s open it::

It would not budge, at least not until Sunstreaker noticed another keypad underneath the berth. This one took a lot longer for Sideswipe to hack, more than a quarter joor. They spent the time debating; what was so important to Ratchet that he would go through the effort of putting in so many passwords?

With a hiss, the floor door lifted up and slid away from the berth, fog rolling out of the compartment. The twins scrambled away from it, and then reconvened once the door fully opened to peer down into the hole.

There was a long oval device, something white and dull silver with a large piece of frosted glass nestled into the device’s front. Fog continued to roll out of the area and then without warning a low rumbling noise started from the chamber. The twins jumped back at the sound, but once nothing happened they peered inside again.

::I think the air conditioning just kicked in:: Sunstreaker sent in puzzlement. ::I’m getting a temperature reading of minus one hundred ninety-six degrees Celsius Sides!::

::What do you think it is?:: Sideswipe slowly placed a finger on the device, scratching at the ice on the glass.

Sunstreaker was exploring all the screens and machines that lined the wall of the compartment, they all seemed to monitor bodily functions. ::You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I think its an organic -- ::

Sideswipe cut him off. ::Sunny, I think there’s a human in here::

::What?!::

::Look:: Sideswipe removed his finger and through the gap in the ice half of a sleeping human’s face could be seen.  
::Primus, what’s Ratchet doing with a frozen human?!::

::I have no clue. He’s never mentioned anything about it. Come on, we should get out of here before everyone wakes up::  
Sunstreaker hurriedly pushed the door back in place, noticing it locked automatically, while Sideswipe checked to see if the coast was clear.

::Good to go?:: Sunstreaker asked as he came up behind his twin.

::Yup::

::Sorry we didn’t find that wax::

::Don’t worry about, I’ll just ask Ratchet for some tomorrow::

::We shouldn’t tell him we found the human::

::I agree::


	4. Simmons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons gets a visitor.

Usually trips to the grocery store ended with him entering the house, walking into the kitchen and putting things away. Sometimes there was a lot of shuffling of items in the fridge, other times in the pantry. Discovering expired food after the trip was also common, he would then have to toss it away and start his list for his next trip. Finding a form slumped in front of his door was not part of his usual routine.

It was just a kid, through why one would get drunk and decided to sleep on his porch at three in the afternoon in the middle of January escaped him. Well, no kid was going to stop him.

Seymour Simmons stuck his key in the lock, stepped over the body to get into the house, closed the door behind him, and made his way to the kitchen.

Seriously, why would a kid be drunk at this time? Shouldn’t he be in school? And why would his buddies just leave the kid on his porch? Why not on a couch or the floor at the place they were drinking? He paused, one hand on the open fridge door and the holding a half gallon of milk. Gazing out the window he noticed it had started to snow.

He watched it fall for a while, still frozen in his action of putting the milk away. The kid on his front porch, if he was still there, had only been wearing a pair of jeans and a threadbare t-shirt. If he was smart, the kid would have moved to someplace warmer by now.

That inner voice of his that sounded like his mother insisted that he at least check to see if the boy was all right. For all he knew, it could be a dead body on his porch. He had never checked.

Yes Mom he said to himself as he placed the milk on the shelf and closed the door to the fridge. If the kid was still out there, Simmons would drag him to the bathroom and leave him there till he woke up. He’d save the kid from the cold but would not help take care of the result of his stupid actions.

Simmons opened his door to find the kid still outside. He had fallen over, most likely from the loss of the door as a backrest, his back facing the agent.

“Hey kid, you alive?” he nudged the body with his foot.

No response, but now that he was looking for it Simmons could see the teen’s chest move with shallow breaths. He had bent down to shake the other’s shoulder when he noticed the kid’s skin was wrinkled. As far as he knew, that was not a side effect of alcohol poisoning. There was something seriously wrong here.

“Kid?” he asked, turning the form over. “Holy Shit and Jesus Christ!”

Simmons jumped backwards into his house in shock. The teen on his front porch had wrinkled skin, sunken eyes, and looked much younger than he should have. Actually, the teen should have been dead. He himself had seen Samual Witwicky lying in a coffin nearly twenty years ago. And even if he had somehow cheated death, that did not explain why he still looked eighteen. Or nineteen. Simmons was not to sure.

The military man spent several minutes sprawled on his floor, feet in front of him and arms supporting his torso as he just stared at not a kid, but The Kid. He had destroyed his life at one point, but had also been responsible for him regaining a government job and having a chance to serve his country from in front of a desk rather than behind it. Not to mention helped save the world twice. No, Simmons had forgiven Sam Witwicky even before he had died.

There was that whole death thing again. Witwicky was supposed to have been burned into little pieces of black soot and scattered into the wind. Why was he here, alive and breathing on his porch?

He won’t be for long if you don’t get him inside, his mom said in his head. Right.

Simmons pushed himself off the floor and made his way over to Witwicky. Gently, he lifted the other man’s shoulders to hook his own arms underneath and pulled. Once the teen (again what in the world? Did he find the fountain of youth?) was propped against the couch, no easy feat since he was now over fifty and had never been very athletic, Simmons went to close the front door.

After a moment of contemplation, he went upstairs and dug out his spare quilt to bring down. He glanced at his dresser and shrugged. “Might as well.” Three minutes later he was downstairs with the quilt and flannel pajamas lying in a pile next to his house guest.

“Right,” Simmons said to himself before he started to undress the unconscious man and put him in the warmest PJ’s he owned. His subordinates in Sector Seven had gotten them for him one Christmas, and while the symbols printed on them had faded over time they were still just as warm.

Once Witwicky was fully dressed and cocooned in the quilt on the couch Simmons made his way to his office. His address book and phone were there and he was pretty damn sure that Ron and Judy Witwicky would want to know that their son, dead for seventeen years was lying on his couch.

He picked up the receiver, flipping to the back to find their number. Simmons paused halfway through and then returned the receiver to its cradle. Surely, the first people Witwicky would seek out would be his parents, so why was he here instead of there?  
Nah, he was simply the closest. That’s why The Kid decided to show up on his doorstop. He picked up the receiver again. The Wikwickys would be ecstatic.

He hung up on the first ring.

Simmon’s secret agent skills tingled once again. Witwicky could have forgone all this trouble. Make a post on the web somewhere, call the government, hell even call the Autobot base. Or The Kid’s own personal robot, that yellow one. The United States Government and the Autobots were constantly monitoring the electronic channels. Witwicky could have said announced his condition and location, expecting to be picked up in a couple of days.

Simmons walked to the doorway separating his office from the small hallway that lead to the living area. From here he could see the back of the couch and Witwicky’s feet sticking out over the armrest, covered in poofy green fabric. There was a reason Witwicky had come to his house, collapsed on his porch, and until he knew what it was he would keep his mouth shut. He was good at keeping secrets.

Sighing, he walked back upstairs to grab the book on his nightstand. Might as well read while he waited for his houseguest to wake up. It did not take that long, about three chapters in or an hour according to his watch.

“Nnh.” The couch bundle made a noise and turned so its face was facing Simmons. Its eyes opened, and then quickly shut as the young man let out a hiss of pain at the light.

“Kid?” Simmons got out of his chair and made his way over to the couch.

Witwicky’s eyes opened halfway, and even though he was looking straight at Simmons the man was not sure Witwicky could actually see him. The teen’s eyes shifted right and left, unable to land on Simmons’s face. The Kid opened his mouth and an inhuman noise emanated from it.

“Hang on,” Simmons stood up to his full height and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, only to realize that he lacked any clean glasses. Grumbling, he opened the dishwasher and grabbed one at random. After a quick rinse he got out some ice from the freezer, dropped it in, and then poured in water from a filtered pitcher in his fridge before heading back to his guest.

“Right, let’s get you up,” he said, adjusting his guest on the couch so he could sit up with the armrest at his back. He placed the glass in Witwicky’s hands, only to realize the kid’s limbs were trembling too much to allow him to take a sip without spilling half of the water down his shirt.

“Here,” Simmons said in a rare moment of kindness, taking the glass from The Kid’s hands and bringing it to his lips. “Drink.”

After the first gulp Witwicky tried to use his hands to push the glass further up to take larger ones. Simmons had to bat the hands away. “Take it easy! There’s more. Geez, you act like you haven’t had anything to drink in days.”

The teen finished the glass and Simmons stood up to get the rest of the pitcher in the fridge when Witwicky spoke in a voice raspy from disuse. “Years, not days.”

Simmons froze, just stood there staring at the teen. His mouth opened and closed, trying to think of something to say and failing. The Kid just sat there, having given up on trying to see him, and just contented himself with fingering the quilt across his lap.

“Simmons?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’ll be right back.” He watched the teen’s shoulders sag in relief before he took off for the kitchen. Grabbing the box of club crackers he bought that day, he walked back to the living room. Simmons set his load on the coffee table and dragged it closer to the couch. “Go ahead and pour yourself another glass. I’m going to grab a chair.”

He returned to the kitchen to do so, placing the hard wooden chair next to the couch next to Witwicky. The glass and pitcher had not moved.

“Thought you’d still be thirsty.”

“I…I can’t make out the glass. Everything’s just blobs.” Simmons noticed his hands were still trembling.

“Why are you here kid?” he poured another glass and held it up to waiting lips. They were severely chapped.

“I need someplace to hide,” Witwicky said after he had finished.

“You can’t stay here! Why do you even need to hide? And first off, how are you even alive?! I saw you in a coffin!”

Witwicky paled. “Wh-what?” he croaked.

“You died! Seventeen years ago!”

The teen looked liked he was going to faint, so Simmons forced another glass of water on him.

“Who, who did you tell I’m here?”

“No one, at least not yet. So tell me what happened.” The agent pushed a couple of crackers into the teen’s hands. “And why I shouldn’t just take you to a hospital. You need one.”

Witwicky scarfed down the food so quickly he choked. Simmons pounded him on the back and offered another drink of water, which was gladly accepted.

“Please don’t take me to a hospital, he’ll know where I’m at.”

Simmons raised an eyebrow at the slight pleading in Witwicky's voice. “Who? You know what, never mind. I don’t want to get involved in it. Why don’t you just go back to your robot friends, I’m sure they can keep you safe.”

He had not expected the wide eyes of fear that Witwicky turned on him, nor the trembling in his shoulders that somehow Simmons knew came not from physical limitations but anger. It clicked.

“You’re hiding from an Autobot.”

The Kid flinched. Bingo. “Not all of them, just one?” Witwicky nodded. “Why?”

“He, he kidnapped me! I guess it makes sense that he told you all I died. Less suspicion. I can’t go back, let him know where I am now that I’m free. He’d just freeze me again.” Witwicky shook his head and then winced and swayed. Simmons caught him before he fell off the couch.

“All right, all right. So an NBE faked your death and what, froze you? Like what they do to dead people or in sci-fi movies?” A nod. “And only this one Bot knows?”

“Well, no. Someone else would have let me out.” Witwicky turned to look at him and still Simmons got the idea that the teen could not completely tell where he was by sight alone. “I doubt Optimus would have agreed though.”

“Why'd the NBE do this?”

A shrug. “Something about the Allspark and sparklings, whatever those are.” He fell back against the couch, eyes closed.

“I couldn’t,” Witwicky said in a tired whisper, “go to my parents cuz they’d tell everyone and he’d find me, and I know Ironhide used to stay with the Lennoxes, and Kaela would tell my folks. I could only think of you.”

“I’m flattered you think I can help,” Simmons deadpanned.

“But you can right?” Witwicky still kept his eyes closed, voice indicating he was drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah,” Simmons said softly. He did not know if it was the kid’s helpless state, the fact he could never see his family, or that here was finally a case of how big of a Bad Idea it was to house robot aliens in the country but Simmons knew The Kid deserved some peace in his life. He had saved the world once and helped with the second effort.

“How does London sound?”

“Peaceful.”


	5. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet goes to check on Sam, and well, doesn't like what he finds.

Eighteen years had not made Ratchet’s guilt any easier to bear. It had been especially hard to handle when Mikaela had still been around, working her grief and then helplessness off by learning his trade. But she had left now, claiming something about blood being thick and her first priority being to her father.

Watching her break down and cry several times during the year and a half she studied under him had turned him into an awkward and self-conscious mech. He had caused that, that pain and guilt. The first time she cried in the med bay, Ratchet had had to walk out. Bumblebee consoled her instead.

He could not say for sure if it was the tears that stabbed his spark the strongest or watching her live her life. Mikaela grew up, physically and mentally during the year and half she kept near daily Autobot company. Every time Ratchet saw her moving and alive he was reminded of the cold, still body not fifty yards away. It hurt and yet relieved him to see her go

Mikaela had a family now, married for eleven years with three kids; Sam was nine and the twins, Erin and Liz were both five. It was something Sam Witwicky would never have. But it was something Ratchet might.

That was the only thing that kept him from telling anyone what was hidden and frozen in the floor of his med bay quarters.

He watched little Sammy and the twins grow through pictures; saw Annabelle Lennox mature through brief glances, but mostly heard about her development from the stories Will and Ironhide passed around. Ratchet watched the human sparklings grow up from a distance, and it only increased his desire to have one of his own to watch grow up from day to day. He wanted to feel the love and pride that was so evident in Mikaela’s and Will’s eyes when they talked about their sparklings. Ratchet had never experienced it before.

But Sam was not cooperating. Every three years the medic would slowly bring lower the temperature in the cryogenics chamber, check vitals, and ask questions. Sam showed an amazing amount of knowledge for a human, knew great bounds of Cybertronian science too. He would most likely be able to hold in depth conversations with Perceptor and Wheeljack if the two scientists ever answered Prime’s call. But as to how to access the All Spark’s power, how to ignite a new spark and pump fuel into a new protofrom, the human did not know anything.

Ratchet knew it could be awhile before Sam’s knowledge of the subject was unlocked, that was after all why he was using cryogenics to prolong his life, he still could not help but wonder if not keeping the human’s brain on ice would have meant a quicker revealing of the information. The cold temperature of the stasis chamber could be slowing down the surfacing of knowledge to Sam’s conscious mind. It was too late now anyway, Sam had been in the cryogenics unit for eighteen years and there was no letting him out.

The first time Ratchet had woken up Sam to test his knowledge the human quickly went from confused and scared to angry and desperate. To keep him manageable the medic had had to sedate the teen. It was now a precursor to every waking and a ritual reminder of his guilt; Sam did not want to be his current position. But if Ratchet released him now after Sam knew what happened, the human would leave without a second thought and take all answers with him.

And then there was the added complication of whether Sam would go quietly or let the others knows what he had done.

Bumblebee would most likely attack the medic with the help of Mudflap and Skids because those three had been the closet to the human and Prime would no longer trust him. Ratchet did not know what the others would do and he did not like to dwell on the possibilities. He did not want to go through all that could happen and so keeping Sam a secret was a must. And really, what he was doing was for the good of his race. Plus Sam no longer had to worry about being a target for the world’s governments or the Deceptions; it was hard to take revenge on someone you thought was already dead.

That did not stop the guilt that sometimes prevented him from recharging. Sneaking back into his own med bay after the others had settled into their berths did not either. It was a necessary step though; he could not risk someone walking in on him while he was questioning Sam. The process took a good couple earth hours as well; Ratchet usually had to start the defrosting the night previously to enable the human to answer his questions. Both the warming and cooling had to be done gradually to do the least amount of harm.

Ratchet typed in the password to the recharge berth he had set up if he needed to be close by to monitor a patient. So far, it had never been used for its intended purpose. Giving a quick glance around the medical bay with both his scanners and optics, Ratchet stepped in and the door closed behind him. He hunkered down on the floor near the berth and reached a hand underneath for the keypad he had installed. From his wrist slid out an import jack, it connected to the keypad and started relaying the necessary passwords.

Just shy of a breem later, Ratchet got an ‘access acknowledged’ pop up on his HUD and scooted out of the way to allow the floor to open up and reveal the stasis kept human. He should have known something was wrong when the fog that usually rolled out of the chamber failed to appear. As it was, he did not really notice anything amiss before it was staring at him in the face.  
The cryogenic chamber door was open and there was no human youth inside.

Frag. That was the only word his processors could articulate before they froze for a moment and then jumped back into real time with a restart. Quickly, Ratchet checked the computer connected to the unit and found that it had be accessed with in the year; Sam had completely thawed about eight months ago and left.

Trembling, Ratchet pulled himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the berth. Someone on base had found Sam, and did not tell any one. Someone on base might not have approved of what he had done, but understood; he had not been approached about keeping the human and lying. But who would do so?

He could think of comrades who might understand, others who might keep quiet, some that would release the human, and still others that would most likely do nothing. But an Autobot who would do all four? The most likely person he could think of was Optimus Prime himself, but Ratchet could not fathom why the leader would not approach him about it. Especially after most of an Earth-year had gone by.

Did Optimus actually forgive him, want to make it seem as if this entire fiasco never happened? Was he to angry to talk about it?

Or maybe he did not say anything because it contrasted with mantle of Prime he carried?

Ratchet suddenly found himself able to sit up straighter, felt the weight at the bottom of his spark casing diminish and the darkness at the edge of his processors retreat. They were still there of course, and they always would be with this added touch of loss. But at least it was manageable with this silent, unvoiced semi-support of his leader.


End file.
